


Too Much

by Anootnoot



Series: The Blossoms [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Abuse, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Sad Ending, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 01:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10843866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anootnoot/pseuds/Anootnoot
Summary: Since Cheryl could remember, she’d always beentoo much. Could be unbearable or intolerable or insufferable, but she’s been referred to as such, she guessed, since she’s seen the light of day.-----Very subtly inspired byA Child Called It by Dave Pelzer.----This is a writing excercise that I decided to publish.ANDI have a mini-challenge going on in here! Check this out to be informed!





	Too Much

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. Once again, I am back with a dark fic that nobody asked for. If you are triggered by mentions of suicide please refrain from reading.
> 
> This is a challenge to readers, as I have said. If you can find any parallels or lines or metaphors from this work pertaining to Cheryl's life or attitudes in the canon universe, comment them down below and you guys can give me a prompt to write as a prize. Thanks!

Since Cheryl could remember, she’d always been _too much_. Could be unbearable or intolerable or insufferable, but she’s been referred to as such, ~~she guessed~~ , since she’s seen the light of day.

When she and Jason were born, she’d weighed too much.

 

_I guessed that started it ._

* * *

 Once when she was 8, ~~a child who was merely too soft and innocent to notice that she lives in a house with monsters,~~ she went down in the kitchen to make juice for everyone. Jason wasn’t with her because she had planned this alone; when her mother told her she didn’t have any redeemable qualities.

Like a usual day at home, she had ignored the insult. She knows what it means. She’s read it in a book. When she ignores it, it doesn’t mean that she didn’t cry in her room alone.

Sometimes, even Jay-jay couldn't heal the booboo in her heart.

So, maybe, just maybe, doing this could make them think differently of her. Maybe they will stop calling her mean. Maybe they’ll _include her in the big hug._

She finds apples and oranges and strawberries and lemons in the fridge. She couldn’t choose. So, she sits there for over a minute thinking it through. Finally, she chose lemon.

She sets the fruits on the counter. She stands on a stool to retrieve a glass pitcher from the cupboard, but she couldn't quite reach. As her fingers pressed on its cold glass surface, she finds out that she has only pushed it further back in. She begrudgingly alerts a helper. Cheryl triumphantly holds the glass like it was a holy grail after.

“Do you need help, Miss?” the helper asked.

“No, get back…” to your stinky tunnel of a bedroom, she was going to say. But, she thought for a moment.

“Please,” she finished, earning her a look of surprise from the helper as she backed away slowly, thinking it was another scheme by the two redheaded children of the mansion.

“I’m fine,” Cheryl said, proceeding to retrieve the juicer next from a lower cabinet. The helper left. And she was left to her own bearings.

She set her materials on the counter. She prepared the lemons, they were cut in half by the time she moved to fill her pitcher with water. The rest of the work was harder for her. On the process of cutting the lemons, she accidentally sliced her finger. And it was now profusely bleeding, yet she continued.

* * *

After 2 good hours, she was holding a pitcher of fresh lemonade and she left behind slight casualties in the kitchen. All else was ignored when she skipped to the living room. She found her parents and Nana Rose seated near the television. Cheryl smiled as she approached them.

“Hi, Mommy. I made juice.” Penelope looked at her questioningly, but it was more of a glare, really. Clifford spared her a look, but he didn’t say anything. Nana Rose only smiled. Nonetheless, the ecstatic child set the pitcher on the coffee table. She went to get glasses for everyone. The kitchen, she saw, had been left the way she left it moments ago. Then suddenly, her mother was behind her. Startled, she dropped the tray of glasses she was holding, wounding her legs and feet, tearing her white tights to ribbons and impaling her shiny, red Mary Janes.

Before she could even cry out, Cheryl was dragged into the sick room.

She whimpered and sobbed, saying she was sorry. But Penelope slammed the door close, heading back downstairs. The nurse attended to her. The lacerations were small and shallow. But they still hurt, despite how they may think.

She was able to escape the sick room, slipping out when the nurse wasn’t looking. She peeped out from the staircase. Cheryl could see her mother. She was holding a fat glass with some liquid swirling in it. Cheryl hoped and hoped that it was her lemonade. That her mother drank her lemonade.

But her face fell when she saw an open wine bottle that wasn’t there earlier set on the table. Her lemonade was forgotten on the side of table.

Penelope called a maid. “Take this out. We don’t want it. It’s too sweet.” she said, gesturing to the glass pitcher. The maid obediently picked it up, but she stopped to talk to her superior.

“Ma’am, Miss Cheryl made that for you, I think-” before she could finish, Penelope took the pitcher from her. The next Cheryl thing knew was that the former pitcher of lemonade turned into a shattered heap of glass, and lemon slices in a mattered of seconds. It soaked the carpet beneath, making the damage greater.

“Clean this up.” commanded Penelope, the maid followed suit, without a word from her lips.

Penelope sat back down, sighing.

“Why does that child have to be so difficult?” she rolled her eyes to Clifford, he grunted, agreeing.

“It’s just too much. It’s being too much.” she slurred. Penelope was clearly drunk. And these were her honest thoughts, no holds barred.

* * *

 

And so, Cheryl was an _it._

 

* * *

 

8 years later, the news spread fast. Cheryl Blossom was at the Sweetwater River around midnight. That she’d jumped off the ledge to end her own life.

There was a note, a heavily classified piece of evidence. It was written by “It” and addressed to Penelope Blossom, who would later be proven guilty of child abuse.

Cheryl Blossom died of one fatal blow on the head, resulting in a cracked skull which caused massive hemorrhaging in her brain. She suffered in the water before she died. Cheryl had hit her head against the rocks, was then taken by the current away from Riverdale, only to be brought back again.

Until then, she was still _too much_.

_I guess this is how it ends._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Once again, you can partake in the challenge mentioned below!
> 
> This work does not mean to glorify, encourage, or advertise any of the aforementioned cultures of death.  
> Please contact your state's Suicide Hotline if you need any help.
> 
> The author does not claim Riverdale as her own through this work.
> 
> Have a nice day!


End file.
